


be wet with a decent happiness

by anacel



Series: To Everything There is a Season [2]
Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Kink: Characters Going to Therapy, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19411897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anacel/pseuds/anacel
Summary: The back and forth between Bernie’s flat and Serena’s home is a reminder that the space between them is no longer oceans and continents away, that they have endured enough hardships and heartaches to arrive here — now, more certain of anything about who they are to each other.





	be wet with a decent happiness

**Author's Note:**

> This follows my last fic: "let the soft animal of your body love what it loves" but can be read as a standalone. 
> 
> Thank you to the lovely Bonnie for the beta! The plot certainly tried to jam itself in here, but it's just pure domestic filth tbh.

* * *

_Love, if you love me,_

_lie next to me._

_Be, for me, like rain,_

_the getting out_

_of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-_

_lust of intentional indifference._

_Be wet_

_with a decent happiness._

—Robert Creeley, ‘The Rain’

~*~ 

A streak of bright, white lightning forks through the sky. Thunder roars in the distance. The heavens open up in a relentless downpour, needles of rain bearing down at all angles. Serena slows down, her visibility low and checks the time — it's nearly a quarter past eleven.

She decides against calling Bernie.

She is, however, looking forward to having the rare day off together. 

Serena’s quietly relieved to see the pool of light from street lamps illuminating the neighbourhood. She parks the car and makes a wild uncoordinated dash towards the front door, eager to slip inside and under warm covers. She wipes a hand over her hair, dislodging little pearls of rain sitting on each strand, and toes off her shoes. She knows immediately that Bernie has let herself inside, hangs her coat on the hook with a smile, and bounds up the stairs two at a time. 

She turns the bedroom door quietly but notes the lack of occupancy as she surveys the room. She walks towards her side of the bed to turn the lampshade on, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. 

She spies a trail of clothes strewn about. Shakes her head as she picks up a pair of jeans, and a collared-shirt to chuck in the hamper. She’s about to make her presence known when she hears faint moaning sounds coming from inside the ensuite, itching with curiosity she tiptoes over to peek inside. 

Serena is positively mesmerized by the pure, unadulterated pleasure radiating off Bernie. Her head thrown back and eyes shut tight it's impossible to misinterpret. For a moment Serena's unable to move, observing the private moment in voyeuristic thrill. Serena holds her breathe, unblinking, follows Bernie's hand as it moves beneath the water, and the other coming up to pinch her nipples into hardened peaks. Serena bites back a whimper, heat pooling low in her belly. 

_Bernie Wolfe, you naughty girl._

“Serena…” She hears her name, louder and keen, and like a spell, it summons her inside. 

Bernie's hazy eyes widen in shock at the intrusion. She loses her footing and her head submerges underneath the bath water. She resurfaces a moment later spluttering, hair sopping wet, wiping the suds from her eyes before glaring up at Serena. 

Serena leans against the door jam, laughter bubbling up her throat. “Have I interrupted—”

“—bloody hell, Serena!” She hears again, one eye creeping open to find Bernie brandishing a familiar pink vibrator in her direction like a loaded gun. This is certainly a first for her — for them. 

Bernie's eyes shift from Serena to the vibrator in her hand, flailing and dropping the toy in the bath water. 

Serena's tenuous grasp on her senses fail, and she’s once again reduced to hysterical peals of laughter. Bernie joins in too with that foghorn of a laugh that she's come to associate with good and precious things. 

She can hardly remember a time when her heart was so full and her head so light. 

After a moment, Serena attempts to school her features, sides aching and taking in large gulps of air to calm her breathing. She wipes away tears from the corner of her eyes with a hanging robe.

Bernie’s cheeks are crimson, an impish smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

Serena bites back a cheeky remark. Ambles over to the clawfoot tub, tilting Bernie’s chin up for a languid kiss.

“Hello, darling."

Serena unclips Bernie's hair, tangling her fingers in it. Bernie nibbles at her lower lip, sneaking a wet hand to cup her breast in retaliation — a tactical move that almost causes her to lose footing. Serena pulls back to recover, saving herself from being unceremoniously dunked in the bath water. Straightens and casts a leisurely glance at her lover. 

Bernie Wolfe is a vision: a delightfully erotic picture, indescribable most days, that Serena has curated in her head an ever-shifting gallery of her favourite candid moments. From her hair down to her long, elegant neck leading to broad shoulders peeking above the water — flush with endorphins, and surrounded by the ephemeral glow of candles bouncing off her skin. 

“I could have drowned,” Bernie exaggerates, hand to her heart. Serena rolls her eyes, reaching over to cup the back of Bernie’s head, examining a phantom bump with as much theatrics. 

“You were hardly in peril of drowning, dear," Serena says, lingering with droll amusement. 

Bernie makes a very convincing grimace, before slapping Serena’s hand away. 

“No, but you’d love a chance at a bit of mouth to mouth resuscitation, wouldn't you?” 

Serena lowers herself to the floor to meet Bernie at eye level, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss, as light as their banter — a sort of intimacy that harks back to the early days of their friendship. 

It feels every bit as new and old again. 

“Course," she says between pecks, and featherlight kisses. "Care to practice with me?" 

Bernie is having none of Serena's sweet-talking, choosing instead to flick suds in her direction. Serena turns away in protest. “Stop— oh— you’re worse than our grandniece.” 

Bernie’s goose-like honk does not disappoint.

Serena rearranges herself to lean comfortably against the tub. She peers archly at Bernie when she has to move aside a copy of the Lancet, a plate of cold baked beans on toast, and a bottle of fine, red vintage. 

Bernie shrugs and folds her arms over the side of the tub. 

Serena takes a bite, famished. Lets her mind unwind from the day to day minutia. She feels a sense of celebration, not of this day in particular, but the present, in the small, incremental changes that have gathered to bring herself and Bernie closer once more. Perhaps it was the unique understanding that they were both crossing the same bridge instead of waiting on the other side that's made all the difference. 

Bernie continued to work, a steady stream of locum jobs falling on her lap and one serious offer in London that was tabled. Whilst Bernie presented at a conference on interdisciplinary practice in trauma surgery as per her original contract with the NTC, she was juggling additional duties and stressors as the newly appointed Medical Director. 

It was a mutual decision to hold off on moving in together when Bernie found a flat with a six-month lease. And despite their desire to square things off and move on, it was actually weeks and months of taxing labour, both physical and emotional, scraping together what was left of them and starting anew. 

The back and forth between Bernie’s flat and Serena’s home is a reminder that the space between them is no longer oceans and continents away, that they have endured enough hardships and heartaches to arrive _here_ — now, more certain of anything about who they are to each other. And Bernie still loves to surprise her, that much hasn’t changed. Maybe they're not the kind of surprise that begins with a transcontinental flight and a whirlwind forty-eight hours of romance, but it is the kind that smells of sweat, and dirt under fingernails from tilling the soil. Serena knows her garden vegetables will be abundant this year, an arrangement of daffodils displayed on her table, and the smell of lilacs and peonies dancing in the air. 

Sometimes there’s even a grandniece between them, through a stroll at the park, or taking her first crawl. A quick lunch between her board meetings, and Sunday roast when all their children are in town. Other days it's offering each other space, to rebuild trust, to reexamine the course their individual lives have taken. To communicate their needs in a healthy, supportive manner. 

It was always going to land them in therapy. 

And they did at that.

Bernie taps her shoulder to pull her out of reverie. “Hop in before the water runs cold.” 

“I thought you’d never ask." Serena perks up gleefully, eager to soak in the tub after a long day. Her deft fingers already making quick work of unbuttoning her blouse. 

“Stop!” Bernie's sudden exclamation causes Serena to pause, lifting her head up in question. “Strip off your clothes,” Bernie request, twirling her finger as if to demonstrate what she means, biting her bottom lip as her eyes track Serena's figure sinfully. 

Serena's eyebrow quirks up as she toys with the buttons on her blouse, both delighted by and cursing Bernie’s burgeoning friendship with Sian, who was known for her alcohol-fueled tall tales. _Oh, what the hell,_ Serena thought, unabashed. 

She’s never had a problem getting her kit off.

Serena leans down to place the barest kiss on Bernie's lips, and finding her voice slipping dangerously huskier to ask, “Are you ready?” She can feel Bernie exhale sharply, hot breathe mingling with hers. Serena takes a step back, desire pooling at her core, she knows this will be just as much for her as it is for Bernie. 

Bernie takes the bottle of wine, pours herself a generous top-up, and relaxes back against the tub.

Serena’s fingers continue to unbutton their way down her blouse, revealing a hint of skin as it hangs loosely over her frame. She turns her back to Bernie and smooths her hands over tight-fitting trousers. Serena takes a moment to clear her head, unburdens the weight off her shoulders and let's loose, singing a little song in her head. 

She relishes the vulnerability and intimacy of undressing, an act she's done many times, though it feels just as much about slipping off her titles and responsibilities. At this moment she is simply _Serena_. She turns her head briefly to share a glance with Bernie, who winks in her direction, and it's all the encouragement she needs. 

Her fingers meet each other at the clasp and lowers the zipper shortly after. Serena puts an extra sway in her hips, knows Bernie holds a certain fondness for it. She shimmies the trousers over her arse, bending down smoothly to pull it over her legs, and tosses it off to the side. She turns around to face Bernie once more, shrugging the silk blouse off her shoulder, letting it pool like liquid to the ground as it joins the rest of her clothes. 

“You're gorgeous, Serena.” 

“Am I?” She purrs.

“You know you are,” Bernie nearly growls, brimming with all the intensity and hunger for every bit of soft, lush skin that Serena reveals. “I love everything about you.” 

Serena's eyes soften at that. Remembers the way Bernie's hands would glide over her body, soft and uncertain, sure and rough, tracing her body like a cartographer mapping the geography of her very being. 

Serena takes special care in undressing for Bernie's enjoyment. Her breasts are encased in a simple satin bra, accentuating the fullness of her cleavage. She hadn't quite dressed for an impromptu striptease, but she makes it look just as resplendent. Her confidence only matched by the other woman's adoration of her body. Serena makes quick work of unhooking her bra and discards the material to reveal soft, supple breasts underneath.

“It’s simply not fair how flustered you make me, Berenice,” Serena's voice drops a register, slow like honey, and downright filthy in their own right. 

Serena can sense a set of dark, hooded eyes follow her from across the room. And she can't help but trail her hands up to cup her breasts, heavy and full in her hands. She captures Bernie's eyes, licks a thumb wet, and feathers it across her hardened nipples. 

Serena's fingers find their way to the last item of clothing on her body — laced-trimmed, burgundy knickers. She parts her legs a little, taking full advantage of Bernie’s lustful gaze. And the thrill of undoing Bernie's resolve without even touching her courses through her like a drug. She dips her fingers beneath, tangling in dark, wiry curls and through slick folds. 

Bernie shifts in the tub, a barely restrained moan falling from her lips. 

Oh _,_ she could do this all night. Make Bernie sit there as she comes from her own hand. 

“Serena…” Bernie groans. “You’re such a bloody tease.”

Serena lets out a throaty laugh. “Isn't this what you wanted?” She says playfully, fingers slipping out of her wet centre to glide along her belly. 

“Take. It. Off.” 

Serena knows Bernie is beyond teasing. She's drawn this out long enough, now just as desperate to have Bernie within reach she might combust. Serena toys with the top of her knickers as she bends forward to pull the last scrap of fabric off her body. 

Serena stands tall, completely naked and utterly wet. 

Her body is an open book: a testament to life and her capacity to endure it, earmarked by silver fading scars, underlining creases, and a smattering of molten bruises highlighting her inner thighs. She is softer and fuller in ways that speak to indulgent pleasure, and she loves it more now than she’s ever loved the taut body in her youth. 

Bernie whistles from her corner of the tub, and Serena throws her knickers at Bernie’s head. She catches it in mid-air, waving it like a victory flag, toeing the line between desire and saccharine silliness. 

It’s a balance Serena didn't think possible until she met Bernie.

She surrenders completely into Bernie's waiting arms, settles herself down between two strong legs, as Bernie places a crown of bubbles on her head like a queen in her throne room. 

“This is lovely,” she murmurs contently, sinking further into warm, lavender-scented water. 

Bernie hums in agreement. Bernie loves water, Serena comes to understand. 

“How was your day?” Bernie asks, punctures every word with kisses behind Serena's ear and the expanse of her neck.

“Surgery ran late... it was touch and go, but we’ve managed to stabilize the leg…” 

“Stiff?” Bernie asks, hands already massaging the tight knots along Serena's neck, making her spine melt. 

“Oh, that's good...” Serena sighs, hunching forward to give Bernie more room. The bespoke tub just big enough to accommodate them both. “And you? What's all this ‘hashtag’ exciting news you couldn't wait to tell me?” 

“Ah, that— ” Bernie hesitates a beat, “Hanssen’s sniffing about. Asked if I might be interested in submitting a proposal to the board on a multidisciplinary critical care plan."

“Oh, that's wonderful Bernie!” Serena lets out an elated squeal, splashing and sloshing water everywhere as she takes a half-turn to hug Bernie in excitement.

“It was quite the offer," Bernie says, with a huge grin, in between Serena peppering kisses all over her face. "You can jot me down as your Monday morning."

Serena pleased as punch pulls back slightly, a ready opinion at the tip of her tongue. “We were sorely unprepared for that kind of cyber attack on the hospital. It was a huge liability to transport or even operate."

Bernie nods in understanding. "I can’t even imagine the scale of that breach — the threat it posed to the hospital’s operations.”

“I’ve still got an anvil of paperwork on my lap. I dare say, _you_ might've still had a job, had they kept the trauma bay open,” Serena replies sardonically.

“Ah, well they did have me paged at St. James as a consult. You’d think I was the only trauma surgeon in the county,” Bernie volleys back, although she had come to terms with her disappointment long ago.

Serena has come to view Tuesdays as a sort of omen. “I’ve thought about scheduling it off, but I’m afraid I might not have a place of work to return to the next day,” Serena says, half expecting the hospital to fall into chaos and tragedy. “And that’s not a spot on Henrik’s capable hands,” she pauses, a sobering thought for her stoic colleague, her _friend._ “He’s done admirably, considering.” 

She knows the dead weigh heavily on Henrik, far too loyal to abandon them all now, and choosing instead to remain at Holby as his own self-inflicted punishment. It’s a wonder the lot of them haven’t been scared off yet. 

“So have you, don’t forget that,” Bernie reminds her, gently, before bringing up her own reservations about returning to Holby City on a permanent basis. “Will our relationship present a conflict of interest with the board?”

“I’ll take myself out of any final decision-making if it is, but Henrik and I both agree that there’s no one better to lead the hospital’s response team, conflict of interest or not.” 

They decided quite early on that if the right opportunity presented itself at Holby City that Bernie would go for it, but there was no sense forcing the issue (funding or otherwise). The cyber attack on the hospital was a perfect example of how ill-equipped they were to tackle specialized trauma cases under limited resources. She and Henrik had a lengthy discussion regarding the hospital's contingency plans.

And although she hadn't outright mentioned Bernie's stint with the NTC, the woman's body of work speaks for itself. 

“You’ve been sorely missed by everyone — your expertise, your tenacity,” Serena says, truthfully. “Holby will be delighted to welcome you back into the fold.”

“Cam might see it differently,” Bernie offers a gentle quip at her son’s expense. “Hasn’t stopped moaning about Lottie teasing him after he called you step-mum at his party.”

Serena groans, a twinge in her temple reminding her of Cameron's birthday do at Albie's. She hasn't quite forgiven the lad from drunkenly referring to them all night as ‘Mum A and Mum B.’ 

Though she’d never say it out loud, she’s grown quite fond of Cam’s nicknames, finds the humour and joy in their awkwardness. She hadn’t totally appreciated it until now just how much Bernie’s special relationship with Jason’s affected her, made her want to fulfill a similar bond with Bernie’s brood. 

She’s tried her best to strike a clear balance between her professional relationship with Cameron and her personal one, but sometimes the boy does try her patience. Too much like Elinor in some regard, and so different from Jason she doesn’t quite know where they’ll sometimes land. 

“Perhaps a little warning won’t go amiss,” Serena suggests breaking the news to Cam, understands that Bernie will need to draw similar boundaries with her son. 

“It was always a possibility that we talked about, me being back. Nothing’s official until I sign the papers.” 

“You’ll be working on site I imagine?” 

“Hanssen’s alluded to keeping me posted on Keller for the time being.”

“Not the ED?” Serena questions, her excitement momentarily eclipsed by the possibility of Bernie's proposal being vetoed. A stark reminder of their trauma bay closing, when she couldn’t be there to support Bernie. 

“As per Ms. Godard’s involvement with the Cartwright case, Henrik thought it would be best to start at the heart of it; work my way around while I draft my proposal.” 

“Ange Godard…” Serena hums thoughtfully, “We haven't exactly seen eye to eye, but she's a good surgeon. Though I'm not sure how keen she’d be with someone stepping in after she fought so hard to keep YAU under her belt.”

“We managed to avoid stepping on each other’s toes last I locummed there. Although she hasn’t quite declared us _equals_ yet.” Bernie chortles, throwing it back to Serena after all these years. Serena's response is a swift tug at Bernie’s hair, and Bernie automatically retaliates with a nip and kiss on Serena’s shoulder, before continuing with her story. “I knew of her through Marcus’ friend Tom. Now that we’ve met, I can’t see how they’re mates, but to each their own.”

“It beguiles me as well,” Serena chimes in agreement, remembering her run-in with Campbell-Gore. “And I’m sure he’ll be delighted to know you’ve taken his place.”

Bernie shakes her head in amusement. “You’d love that, just to spite the man.”

“Misogynist little prick,” Serena mumbles under her breath.

Bernie snorts. “I’ll have to keep that one to myself, wouldn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with a new colleague.”

“She’s… quite pretty. Ange.” Serena tries her best to sound nonchalant, failing evidently, a confounding mix of jealousy and attraction seeping in her tone. She doesn’t quite know why it comes out as such. She’s made her penance, countless of times, carries the guilt of her infidelity with her like a footnote in her heart. This, however, is new, navigating her attraction to other women and being able to perceive it as such. She knows if there’s anyone who would understand — _it’s Bernie_. 

“Is she?” Bernie says, feigning disinterest if only to get a rise out of her. “I hadn't noticed.”

“You’d be blind not to— ” Serena blurts out, knows she just set herself up for a bit of ribbing. 

“Ah, had a look, did you?” Bernie teases, brows wagging, and eyes glinting. Serena wants to bury her face in her hands. “Shall I invite the woman over for dinner? Get to know our esteemed colleague while we ogle her credentials and _experience_.” Bernie’s arms fly up to wrap around Serena, nuzzling and giggling in her ear, taking far too much joy in making Serena squirm. 

“Berenice!” Serena berates in shock, blushing furiously and shaking her head at Bernie's lewdness. Though she’d be lying if she said she hasn’t once (fleetingly) entertained the thought. The slight dig at her dalliance with the F1 isn’t lost on Serena either. She’s shored enough frustration and bewilderment for the younger woman that she’s glad Bernie can make light of it even now.

“You’ve nothing to worry about, Ms. Campbell,” Bernie reassures her, still gathered in Bernie's arm and no chance of escaping. “I’m strictly interested in one all-powerful vascular surgeon, you might have met, Medical Director at Holby City — terrifyingly competent, that one.” 

Serena rolls her eyes up to the ceiling, enduring the last of Bernie’s teasing remarks, though she’s not opposed to Bernie embellishing her titles. “Alright, you’ve had your laugh.”

“Wolfe 1, Campbell 0.” 

“Oh hush, you.” Serena pouts. “Why are you here again? Commandeering my bath at this hour.”

Bernie shrugs, nonchalantly, “I wanted a soak. You’ve got the bigger tub.”

Serena tilts her head back against Bernie's shoulder, eyes twinkling. “More than a soak from what it looked like.”

"I didn't get very far,” Bernie grumbles good-naturedly, licking the shell of her ear and nipping at her earlobe before sucking it into her mouth to soothe the sting. “Pervert—”

“Am not — I didn't-" Serena splutters. 

“Did you enjoy the show?” Bernie asks, voice low and rasping, it's hardly a fair question. 

Serena gulps, cheeks flaring as her mind replays the scene in detail, knows it's going to fuel a few wild fantasies when Bernie's not warming her bed. 

And there's no sense denying it when one of Bernie’s hands cleverly snakes along the apex of her thighs. “Yes…” she whimpers, legs spreading involuntarily, disturbing the tranquil water. 

Bernie slips one and then two fingers inside her. Serena buckles, clutching the edge of the tub, knuckles turning white. Bernie's fingers sinking deeper within her. Serena cranes her head back to lock eyes with Bernie, their mouth scant inches apart, and her pupils blown wide making their gazes seem endless. Bernie takes a moment to appreciate the view, palming Serena’s breast in her hand, and pulling the nipples between her thumb and forefinger. 

Bernie picks a languorous rhythm, those talented, long fingers brushing that glorious spot within her — but it’s not _quite_ enough. She wants more, more of everything Bernie is withholding. 

Serena squirms restlessly, rocking her hips to grind her aching clit against the heel of Bernie’s palm — to move them towards a common goal: getting her _off_. 

Bernie emits a long, audible breathe, tickling the fine hair along Serena’s neck. “It’s my turn…” Bernie says as she stills her hand — dangling Serena’s release like it’s payback. Serena finds it just as thrilling, to be on the receiving end of Bernie’s heated concentration, has longed for a partner who could give as good as she gets, until Bernie waltz into her life, becoming all the ways her equal and more. 

Serena sinks further into the bath water to relax her muscles, and without warning, Bernie’s purposeful, deep thrust has her shouting expletives, “Right there — yes, _fuck_. Don’t stop—” In contrast to the rough pummeling, Bernie’s voice is soft, filtering through her ear like fragments of Sappho’s lost poems. 

She whines when Bernie pulls her fingers out, thighs trembling, bereft and vibrating in a heated frenzy. 

Bernie is a skilled tactician, able to unravel Serena at the seams and bare all her secrets. Knows just the right combination of gestures to make her sing and laugh and cry. Right at this moment, Serena feels as though she’s standing at the edge of all three. 

“Shhh…” Bernie soothes, fingers drawing lazy circles along her entrance and rubbing her swollen clit. Obscured by the water, Bernie flicks the pocket vibrator on, ghosting it over Serena's folds. “Hold,” Bernie orders.

Serena bucks in surprise as the toy pulses higher in intensity, splashing water over the side of the tub. Bernie wraps a hand around her wrist, guiding her movements steadily. Serena is keen to follow and circles it around her sensitive clit, imagining Bernie doing the same earlier. 

She’s so fucking close and Bernie knows it too. 

Bernie catches her behind the knee, lifting her leg up and changing the angle. Without preamble, Bernie thrust three fingers inside of her, knuckle by knuckle. 

She’s so full. Her cunt tightens around Bernie’s fingers instinctively. 

Bernie works her up to the hilt, building up the pressure, and humming with approval as her groans pick up in volume. Her grip on the vibrator loosens as she comes undone.

“Oh, god—” she cries. Serena’s head tips back, falling apart with a loud, guttural moan, raw and ragged, gripping Bernie’s hair into a fist. She pulls a little harder and Bernie sucks at the pulse point on her neck — it’s bound to leave a delicious mark. 

They breathe heavily together, the rumbling of thunder in the distance, like Bernie’s beating heart against her back. 

Serena sighs, eyes falling shut, feeling weightless in the water and thoroughly sated. 

“Sip.” Bernie murmurs, handing Serena a glass of wine, catering to all of her carnal needs. 

The shiraz coats Serena's tongue, and she takes a larger gulp like it’s sustenance. 

"Ta." She shivers in the water, feeling a tad light-headed. Bernie plucks the wineglass out of her hands, drains the last drop, and places it back on the floor. Serena peeks over the tub, half expecting a flood but too languid to care.

“Water’s turning cold.” Bernie nudges Serena's prone state. “And you’re about to doze off.” 

“‘m not,” Serena mumbles, “...it’s your turn… you didn’t—”

“You’re blubbering. God, _I'm good_.” Bernie says smugly. 

"Oh, shut up," Serena perks up, hearing the challenge in Bernie's voice, and eager to show that she's up for another round. “I have plans you know.” Serena cranes her neck back, bumping her nose on Bernie’s chin in an unsuccessful attempt at kissing the other woman's lips. 

Bernie presses a swift kiss on Serena's temple instead and says, “You’ll have to get your arse off me first,” before nudging Serena to sit up straight and hoisting her up on her feet. Bernie fumbles around for the plug to drain the tub. “Go rinse off in the shower, I’ll join you in a second.” Bernie continues to order her about and slaps her arse for good measure.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

~*~

It doesn't take them nearly as long to shower off, mop up the floor, and take turns getting ready for bed. Serena is already beneath the covers with an open book on her lap, and glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. 

The storm outside continues to brew, flashes of lightning rendering a fissure in the night sky, followed by the rumbling and roaring of thunder overhead. And there’s a gentle breeze coming in through a crack in the window; Serena’s first line of defence after menopause and hot flushes. 

"I see you've nicked one of my shirts again," Serena observes, by the time Bernie makes her appearance, towel drying her hair in an oversized Harvard shirt that’s seen better days. Bernie took to wearing Serena’s clothes as nightwear with exceptional stubbornness, alternating between her expensive silk pyjamas and Serena’s oversized holey t-shirts, despite the fact that Bernie’s had a set of clothes she kept neatly tucked in a little drawer.

Bernie lets out a bark of laughter. “Says the thief. You’ve held my hoodie hostage for years.”

Serena smirks but doesn't tear her eyes away from the book she's reading, just gives Bernie her standard response: "What's yours is mine." That much is true. Bernie’s habits fell into her life without her being entirely conscious of them. 

“I’m doing you a service,” Bernie fires back from the en suite, leaving the door open for them to continue speaking.

They were in the midst of a spring clean when Bernie had the brilliant idea of spending the weekend in Serena’s closet, leafing through blouses and asking if they “sparked joy” — to Serena’s mild grousing there was indeed enough to start a donation pile. The day had ended with Bernie chasing her around the bedroom, undressing her out of her neon green blouse, and declaring it ‘joyless’ before making love to her among a pile of discarded blouses. 

“Me? If I so much as get one complaint from Ange Godard that you’ve turned her office into a dumpster—" Serena juts her chin out, flipping to the next page. 

“You’ll what, reprimand me?” Bernie muffles around her toothbrush. “Put me over your lap…” 

Bernie certainly knew how to incentivize her. Serena quirks an eyebrow, zeroing on Bernie's arse. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

Bernie saunters towards her, fresh face and pearly white teeth splaying into a grin. “You're more than welcome to steal me away, Ms. Campbell.” 

“You know, I’d gladly boot Ric back to Keller given the chance.”

“He’s going to be a great-grandfather soon, early retirement not too far along for Ric I gather,” Bernie’s intonation is brimming with a ripple of amusement, taking Serena back to their days on AAU, teasing and tormenting Ric like a couple of school girls. 

“I’ll see you Monday morning sharp then, Ms. Wolfe,” Serena says, eyes glinting, warmth and tenderness flooding her heart. 

“Coffee’s on me.” Bernie plucks Serena’s glasses off her face and drops a soft kiss on Serena’s mouth as a token before she crawls over to her side of the bed. 

Though Serena doesn’t let Bernie get very far, she closes the book on her lap and places it neatly on the nightstand, before hooking a finger through Bernie’s shirt and maneuvering Bernie squarely on her lap. 

“I don’t think that will do at all.” Serena shakes her head, the corners of her mouth edging into a lascivious grin, keeping Bernie securely pressed against her.

“No?” Bernie plays coy, looping her arm around Serena’s neck, and making herself comfortable on Serena’s lap. 

Serena catches the slight flare in Bernie’s eyes before her response is muffled by Bernie pulling her into a harder, deeper kiss, as thunder rolls in the distance driving home the electric current between them. Their tongues drawing each other into a chase, and retreating just as quickly to nibble on each other’s bottom lip. They would move from soft to long, lush kisses, tickling the roof of each other’s mouths, and tracing along the edges of their teeth.

It’s Bernie who pulls away first, lips tingling, and the air between them hot and heavy. “How’s that?” Bernie says with a satisfied smirk.

Serena remains unmoved, imposing a levy on Bernie’s movements. She takes the long column of Bernie’s neck as an invitation to continue collecting her toll, trailing her mouth down and roughly pushing aside the neckline of Bernie’s shirt to place small, barely there kisses. It’s a deliberate attempt to slow things down again, driving Bernie mad with desire. 

Bernie doesn’t seem too keen, yanking the shirt off her body, and tossing it away impatiently. “There’s taking your time and then there’s moving at a glacial pace, Serena,” Bernie huffs with a hint of desperation in her tone. 

Serena laughs bawdily into the crook of Bernie's neck. She was so used to savouring every bit of Bernie — bottling up their time together to make it last, that she’s forgotten what it’s like to taste _eternity_ on her lips. 

“You go too fast for me, Bernie,” Serena says, with a hint of levity, before pouncing on Bernie like a feline, pushing her back onto the bed, and wrapping her fingers around Bernie’s wrist to pin them above her head. She wonders if the leather restraints are still inside the second drawer, just itching to tie Bernie up for that comment. 

She kisses Bernie fleetingly on the lips, prepared to change her tactics, and just as eager to please Bernie in all the ways she wishes. Her kisses follow the trail her hands take down the length of Bernie’s torso, traces her tongue along the jagged terrain of Bernie’s scar like a seasoned travelled revisiting her favourite places once more. She lands around the swell of Bernie’s cleavage to catch a nipple in her mouth, sucking hard for a moment before letting her teeth graze over the sensitive nub as lightning and thunder crash simultaneously. Bernie lets out a gratifying gasp, grinding and rolling her hips into Serena.

Serena settles herself between Bernie’s legs, taking a moment to admire her glistening centre before bypassing it to nip and kiss at Bernie's inner thighs. 

“You really are such a tease...” Bernie says, cheeks flushed and panting.

Serena grins, “I was made for it, darling,” she says, wedging her shoulders wider to hover her mouth just over Bernie’s heat — her lips merely flirting with the idea of where they’ll be, a torturous sort of precipice.

She wants this to be _so good_ for Bernie.

She skims an index finger just outside of Bernie’s vulva, playing with the pubic hair there, stroking along the curvature of Bernie's clit and gliding over to dip her finger through Bernie's slick entrance, drawing out more wetness as she thumbs at Bernie’s clit and tickles her fold. Arousal seeps from Bernie’s core, coating her finger like sweet honey. 

“Wicked woman,” Bernie exclaims, head thrashing back, as Serena responds by burying her mouth between Bernie’s legs. She licks a broad strip up the length of it, gathering the taste of Bernie, thick and salty, on her tongue. Serena unfurls her tongue inside Bernie, stroking at her walls, and cutting through the building pressure inside Bernie like a soft mist, feeling Bernie’s whole body tremble as she sighed in delight. 

The wind outside picks up and a sudden gust blows in causing the curtains to flap. Serena loves the sheer theatre of storms. Loves the fanfare, the boom of thunder — the lashing of rain. She has a tantalizing view of Bernie’s skin pricking in goose pimples and her nipples hardening into stiff peaks. And a wonderful peaty, mossy smell fills the room; the earthiness mingling with the scent of Bernie’s arousal is dangerously intoxicating. 

She wants to marry the memory of this storm — sight, smell, and sound with the taste of Bernie. 

“S'rena...” Bernie chokes the words out, her voice shaky at best, and hips bucking in tandem with the rhythm of Serena's grazes and swirls. She arches off the bed, clit throbbing, seeking to press herself closer to Serena's mouth, and growing increasingly wet as Serena's strokes hit just right. 

Bernie cranes her neck down to watch Serena between her legs, the directness and intimacy in their gaze is everything. Serena can do nothing but open her mouth and suck hot, deep kisses over her slick centre. She greedily drinks up Bernie’s murmurs of praises, relishing the quiet urgency in her moans and gasps, as she takes her time fucking Bernie with her tongue. 

Serena feels the wetness between her own legs growing, and a quiver passes through her, aroused by Bernie’s responsiveness. She’s tempted to reach down and play with her own cunt.

"I'm close— ” Bernie says, chest rising and falling beneath her rapid breaths, as Serena’s hands reach up to skim along her body, gripping her hips to anchor her down. Bernie curls her hands in the bedspread like it's the only thing tethering her to this moment. 

Serena circles her tongue around Bernie’s clit, before sucking the nub in her mouth, and coaxing out a filthy string of words out of Bernie’s mouth. 

Serena growls, the vibration driving Bernie absolutely over the edge with want and need. 

Bernie comes gentle as the rain, her eyes darkening nearly black, and her eyelids fluttering as she gives into pleasure. Serena can feel Bernie riding her orgasm, wave after wave, coating Serena’s chin. 

She doesn’t want to stop, content with nursing Bernie from one orgasm to the next, until Bernie weakly nudges her head away, spent and wonderfully limp. 

Serena wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, staying glued to Bernie’s hip, and purring contentedly as Bernie’s fingers lazily cards through her hair. 

They both linger in the moment, looking out in the glimmering night-light, watching droplets chase each other across the window pane in short-sighted fascination. 

“Hey,” Bernie says quietly, jostling Serena a little, drowsiness seeping into her voice. “Don’t fall asleep on me now.”

Serena chuckles, stamping down a yawn. “Mmhm,” she agrees peaceably, as the storm outside begins to pass. “The night’s just getting started...”

**Author's Note:**

> This was certainly a departure from what I usually write, so I hope you enjoyed this addition to my last fic.  
> 


End file.
